Conspiracy Unmasked
by ToxicKittyCat
Summary: This case is like Pandora Box. It should have never been opened. Political Conspiracy, misty ploy and deception accompany Holmes as he struggles to solve his greatest mistake. Our detective has to accept improbable and ally with most unlikely foe to weasel through this situation. (non-slash)(political!drama)(those are rare)
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Conspiracy Unmasked**

**Rating: T**

**Declaimer: If you're searching for another cheesy Johnlock romance, be assured that this piece would disappoint you. I advise you to leave this page at once. If you're searching for political thriller (not many readers do these days) this story would hopefully suit your likings. And of course, I am not your hated Moffat, I didn't create the show, neither I am Doyle, magically writing through time portal. **

**Synopsis: This case is like Pandora Box. It should have never been opened. When Mitchell Hansom mysteriously dies, Sherlock forces himself in to solve the incident. That, much to his misfortune, proves to be greatest mistake he had ever made: with threat on global stakes, political scandal and dangerous conspiracy, he must accept the improbable and team up with most unlikely foe, before it is too late. **

**What should you expect: EPISODE-LONG STORY•BROTHERLY RIVALRY•JOHNLOCK FRIENDSHIP•MORAN AND MORIARTY**

* * *

**The Bloody M**  
**May 2, London City Airport, 22:00**  
Mitchell Hansom tried his best to tame shaking hands and flush some colour on his unnaturally pale face. Every single part of his body spoke of fear and anticipation, which unfortunately caught attention of more than many. It is not in nature of well-dressed man to be set in state of panic.  
Relax yourself Mitchell, he thought to himself, you're just dragging unwanted attention.  
Yet it was hard to relax when knowing that there were two unstable countries at stakes, devastating weapons ready to strike, and a pact that could spark another war on his shoulders.  
Again set of curious eyes moved over Mitchell's trembling body. He cleaned his throat and briefly closed eyes.  
It was hard to imagine that just half an hour ago Mitchell received simple text from his trusty colleague and co-worker, Davis Ruthann, stating plainly: I am waiting. London City Airport. Got tiding about you-know-what.  
And Mitchell knew that you-know-what meant the secret pact only few knew about, but why Davis picked such a public place to transfer such a secret message? And what type of message was that.  
He opened his eyes and scanned the airports plaza, no sign of Davis.  
Mitchell passed set of early tourists that just returned from Mexico or Spain, as their skin was scorched and souvenirs or strew-knotted hats rested under their arms. Looking upwards his vision was welcomed by well-too known map of Great Britain, normal people might see cities like London, Bristol, ragged hills of Northern Scotland, motorways back-boning centre, seas and ocean; but Mitchell's eyes see unprepared government, dormant military bases, lines and networks of convoy tracks in Cornwall or RAF bases dotted in less habited places.  
Goddamit Davis.  
"You're fine sir?" Soft voice of stewardess nearly made him jump. "Lost?"  
Mitchell maintained steady voice: "I am looking for someone."  
He shouldn't interference with commons, but women was too amiable to be ignored.  
"From where he is coming?" She questioned.  
"God, I have no idea..." He replied truthfully, his eyes were still scanning the crowd. Then he jolted as his phone had awoken with another message. He quickly whisked device out, realising how badly his arms had been shaking. Stewardess flashed him a smile and trotted to lost foreigners that had troubles reading the signs, Mitchell didn't pay attention to any of these, his heart has been thudding with hope when he clicked open: YOU HAVE ONE NEW MESSAGE FROM DAVIS.  
The message was straight yet enigmatic, it said the following: It's on the windowsill. BA003. US.  
His eyes quickly flashed at the arrival/departures board, yet his mind couldn't process names of cities and flight numbers, for he walked back to stewardess and asked for directions.  
"I am sorry, but which entrance serves departs from America?"

Mitchell now surely paced downstairs. His fists were clenched around the phone, turning his chuckles bone white and eyes were lined with dark eyebrows of determination.  
He ascended said place and automatically moved towards said windowsill, much to his surprise there was actually something. Mitchell eagerly lured to inspect the object that looked like normal, metal case. Before touching it he scanned the horizon for recognisable soul and potential spies, when seeing nothing that might rise concern his fingers coiled around the package.  
The surface of it was cold and object was big enough to store a laptop notebook. He cautiously clicked it open.  
The interior was empty, save for thin, white paper with pitch black print.  
He read the short message... His heart halted.  
_You Are Going To Die. Mr. Hansom._  
It stated. Below the threat there was enormous, handsome, blood-red letter that seemed to serve by just looking.

**_M._**

It is not the M you're thinking about. By the way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Call At Night **  
**May 2, New Scotland Yard, 22:30**  
Detective Inspector Lestrade was glad for not leaving office at his usual time. Normally by 21:00 he was on his way home, but today, peculiarly he chose to stay overnight and make use of his Domestic Golf Set.  
Expensive thing just lied in the upper corner and did nothing but collect dust.  
Much to his fortune he didn't departed, as the middle of the night flooded his phone and mailbox. Messages appeared one after another, all from different individuals, but with same cause.  
Another bomber-terrorist; riots in the city centre; collision on motorway, he wondered judging by frequency of the calls. With groan of annoyance he threw golf set into forgetting and with regular tempo paced towards roaring devices.  
More than dozen of calls were recorded and tiny icon above mail graphic indicated overwhelmingly large number. Stuff must be serious.  
After fighting with self consciousness he finally forced himself to open increasing number of messages.  
By reading handful of freshly gained sources and hearing some hasty reports Inspector sketched most important facts:

_1. Man had been shot.  
2. It had happened shortly after 22:10.  
3. Outside London City Airport.  
4. Victim wore expensive and formal uniform.  
5. He didn't have any personal information on him.  
6. What he did have was a phone.  
7. It had one contact and two messages.  
8. All of the messages came from a man named DAVIS.  
9. The Victim had a gun on him.  
10. The weapon was described as being very enigmatic.  
It didn't resemble any firepower mentioned in any atlas or chronicle. One message stated it looked very futuristic and "like out of Science Fiction movie".  
11. There was no sign of sniper.  
12. Shot came from above.  
13. The bullet was also mysterious. It was flat and resembled an arrow. It sliced through the head of the victim.  
14. Victim died instantaneously._

Shortly after Inspector received a CCTV video depicting the victim minutes before his death. Again the Inspector jotted down key features:

_The victim seems lost and distressed when walking around the port, he consults a stewardess before heading down the other way. Stewardess observes the victim, and as he gets shot outside the airport, she sprints and grabs metal case that the victim was previously inspecting._

And I hoped for break.  
None of the facts seemed to add up: mysterious visitor, his stress, sniper, weapons used by both, the stewardess, metal box...  
By careless look it seems that the stewardess might be involved in the situation. She was the one to interfere with victim and react to mysterious package left on the windowsill. Yet, there's also that mysterious Davis.  
Inspector closed his eyes and breathed few times. He didn't consider the options, as there was only one. Impossible scenario, nothing seems to match. There's only one man in whole wide world that would be right for this sort of thing. And it's no one other than Scotland Yards most annoying, eccentric consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes.  
Inspector casually searched for his name in the contacts bar, it proved itself to be easy as it dominated row of Most Active Users.  
Quickly clicking it open he started to fill the message window:  
Man shot outside the airport. You would like that one.  
And when inspector lured to proceed and send the message, many things happened at once that put him off ease: computer screen went blank, electricity in lamps turned bust, phone started ringing.  
Darkness had flooded the apartment, and Inspector might've thought it was another short of power, but computer blockage and phone call didn't seem coincidental.  
Computer screen flashed live, revealing blank screen with few words: _Don't worry. Answer the phone, Greg._  
Shiver ran down inspectors body. Spies, conspiracy theories, hackers, murders, filtrated his mind mercilessly, and so with much caution he reached for trembling mobile. Turning it over he realised that the call was coming from blocked user, much like in one of his previous cases funnily Christianised "The Great Game".  
He pressed green button. Ringing stopped. Hallo.  
"Dear Inspector Lestrade." Said clear, cold, dominant tone. "We know you're not a dumb person, and if you want to continue living, we advise you to follow our instructions."  
"What in the hell-" Inspector started before getting cut by the same voice.  
"There's a sniper behind your back, in neighbouring building. If you do anything outrageous, he won't hesitate to shoot."  
Inspector didn't dare to interfere or even look behind him. He just tried his best to not panic. Judging that man calling had power to block electricity and hack on the computer system just proved the seriousness of situation.  
"Right." Man from the phone stated. "I heavily advice you to delete all files considering the case of shot man at airport." Computer screen flashed back to the mailbox, Lestrade deleted messages one by one, the he moved to his desktop and removed CCTV camera footage, emptied the recycling bin.  
"Now, cancel the message to Mr. Holmes." Inspector did as he was asked. Message to Sherlock went amiss. Whoever is directing this ploy surely doesn't want anyone involved. Stuff must be serious, very damn serious.  
"Listed carefully." Voice spoke again. "We don't want you to speak about this incident with anyone, including your co-workers. The case is... how to describe it... not your division. Please, try to forget that following situation happened, and do not take any precautions regarding man at the airport."  
Yes, and that would arise scandal around my name. Inspector Lestrade just cleaned his throat.  
"If you won't. We will make sure you won't get out of this alive. Thank you for your consideration, Inspector Detective Greg Lestrade. We hope you'll stick to our precautions, and forget entire situation. Thank you."  
The tension of the room seemed to ease, lights went back on and call hung up, but Lestrade was more than shocked.  
He folded the head in his hands and tried to steady his breathing. There was something enormous going behind his back, and he wasn't allowed to look, he was forced to ignore, to forget.  
_I really hope this business would leave my shoulders._ He wished blankly.

**Epic Drum roll time!**

**I guess you guys can easily deduce out what is going on and where it is going. **

**Yes? May I hear your testimonies?**


End file.
